


Pure Water

by Ilthit



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, Coming Out, F/F, Fluid Sexuality, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britta must re-conceptualize herself in order to function.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karmageddon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karmageddon/gifts).



> Warning: Mentions past consensual underage sex.

Britta had always known she was straight, ever since she knew what "straight" was, which she didn't until she was old enough (according to her mother) to find out gay people existed. She'd had boyfriends since she'd turned thirteen, usually older, bad boys who taught her how to smoke weed and give handjobs, who also read her Carlos Castaneda and walked with her for hours through the city at night, rubbing her hands to keep them warm, just because she didn't want to go home yet. Guys were hot. Making guys hot was hot.

Kissing Page had been like smashing her head on a lumpy piece of rock. Sure, she'd been excited, belly full of the nervous anticipation of punishment. It hadn't been about Page. It hadn't been about _Britta_. She'd done it to force acknowledgment of the marginalized on the school's collective consciousness.

And the time Jeff had made her look at Annie and consider, to imagine how soft her cheek must feel like — that hadn't meant anything. It was just a thought exercise. So was the time she'd looked at herself in the mirror in her leather jacket and recognized the stereotype, and kept the jacket anyway because dykes were strong, independent women, just like she wanted to be, like she had to be, to survive everything else she couldn't help but be. Being drawn to an identity meant nothing unless you walked the walk, and Britta had never had a girlfriend. You don't just turn gay at age 30.

So what the hell was this?

"Annie. Stop. We-- we need to stop." The soup kitchen's tiny closet of a staff bathroom had a leaking sink, and it was slowly soaking the side of her jeans. Her mind was in a dozen pieces and her body weak with want.

Annie's grip on her waist tightened, fingers digging into Britta's sides, but she bit her lip, and didn't push her mouth back against Britta's. "Just a little more. Please. You're probably never going to let me kiss you again."

"Oh god."

She needed words back, but she also needed this, Annie soft and gorgeous and so sexy and _wanting her_.

Was this another anomaly? Maybe Britta had some kind of a kink for charity workers, because her belly had flipped the moment she'd seen Annie in her stained apron outside the soup kitchen, taking out trash… Or was that an excuse? Right now there were only the two of them and a broken sink and her mind was full of Annie, her Annie, the woman who lost her shit over a missing pencil, who couldn't understand how anyone could want Blade, or conceive of the labyrinths of self-disgust Britta got lost in on a weekly basis.

This was happening. This was real.

-

It was their first honest-to-goodness date, and Annie was only vaguely aware of Mark Ruffalo on the big screen. Britta ran her fingertips up and down Annie's arms, and it was like a tickle but also the best feeling in the world, and all Annie could do was squeeze the seat arms in an effort not to tackle her right there. For once, she was the experienced one out of the two of them, and she wasn't about to fuck up this fragile thing she'd never thought she'd get a shot at.

But they drove back to Britta's after the movie and within minutes their hands were in each other's hair, sneaking under their waistbands, and this time Annie couldn't have stopped even if she'd wanted to.

-

"So how do you keep her from therapizing you when you're, you know?" Troy asked. Annie got the hand gesture he made but suspected Troy didn't. Three years in a high school football team and over four years in college, and he still couldn't even look at porn. It was kind of sweet, and weird — as was the thought that the three of them now had each other in common.

"Mostly she therapizes - diagnoses - herself."

"Is that better or worse?"

"That's Britta!"

Troy's eyebrows shot up and he nodded gravely. He knew what she meant.

-

"Did you always know? How could you be sure?"

"Oh, here we go."

"Please."

"There was a girl on summer camp, and the one cheerleader who was nice to me. At some point it all adds up. And, okay, there was fanfiction… a lot of fanfiction."

"How could I not know?"

"Well, you are named after a filter."

"I don't know why you like me. You're perfect and I'm such a loser."

"You're not a loser, Britta. You're cool and brave and hot. I am pretty perfect, though, aren't I?"

"Except you are a terrible judge of character."

"Stop that or I will bite you."

Britta perked up.

-

"I am sick and tired of these biphobic assholes," said Britta, throwing the Greendale Pride leaflet on the study room table. "Look at it. 'Gay pride.' Not even LGBT which, by the way, also prioritizes monosexuality."

"Did you get that treatise on historical contexts of same-sex attraction that I sent you?" Abed asked. He'd taken an interest since the school started offering a course on Queer Media.

Britta flopped into her seat with a pout. "It was really long."

"We're all still going, right?" asked Troy. "Because I heard they're handing out rainbow cupcakes—"

"—free drinks," said Jeff.

"—coupons for Shirley's Sandwiches!"

"There's a showing of some banned 1920s German films."

"—and I can't go without my lesbian friends."

"Bisexual!" Britta and Annie said in unison.

-

"Annie," Britta panted, still flushed with orgasm. "I—I think I might be gay."

Annie groaned into her shoulder.

"No, I mean it."

"How many times do we have to go through this? There's nothing wrong with being bi."

"It was never like this with the guys."

Annie propped herself up on an elbow against the fluffy white duvet. "Really? You never had—?"

"No, I mean, I had. I totally had. Orgasms. But with you—I feel like—"

"Please, if whatever you're about to say includes words like 'womanhood' and 'connectedness', don't."

Britta lifted her hands, cupped, fingertips pressed together, and let them fall open.

Annie caught her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers, grinning from ear to ear. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever not said to me."

-

"So, are we done?" Annie asked, watching her girlfriend closely. "Is this the end of the process?"

Britta looked up from her afternoon cup of green tea. She was sitting with her legs folded under her on the sofa bed Annie was spending most of her nights on without having officially moved in. "What do you mean?"

"There's been a documentary about a nineteenth century lesbian diarist on TV for the past half hour and you haven't so much as looked up from your book. What is that, anyway?"

Britta flashed the cover guiltily. It was a biography of John Lennon. Her latest stack of library books by lesbian authors lay untouched on the coffee table.

"You're not going to get bored of me now, are you?" Annie abandoned her textbook and climbed on the sofa, and Britta automatically lifted an arm to let her slide underneath. "If you've come to terms with liking girls, maybe you don't need to like me specifically anymore."

"You're fishing."

"Catch anything?"

Britta leaned in to kiss her mouth, sweet and soft and just a little wet, and let her words spill out.

 

 


End file.
